


Through Glass

by theletterelle



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Angst, M/M, Science Fiction, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon has been alone for so very long. Maybe they've brought Frank here to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dr-jasley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dr-jasley).



> Title is from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour.
> 
> Huge thanks to gala_apples and bootson for reading this over and making suggestions. All mistakes are all mine.

Brendon used his box first thing in the morning, like always. He washed his face in the pond and ran wet fingers through his hair to comb it, then nestled into the long grass in the corner and waited patiently for his breakfast. It fell through the ceiling, and he scrambled to scoop up the solid round cakes and take them back into the grass.

He pulled yesterday’s cakes out from under the grass mat where he hid them, and slid today’s cakes in their place. Fresh were always better than day-old cakes, but ever since the day when the cakes didn’t come at all, Brendon has been sure to keep a stockpile on hand. “God helps those who help themselves,” he muttered. It was his mother’s stock phrase for when Brendon was being a smartass kid, asking _why_ she bought so much canned pineapple, and _why_ there was six months' worth of flour in the pantry, and _why_ they had to prepare for Tribulation when Heavenly Father was going to save them anyway?

He liked hearing it now, even if it was only his own voice. It made him remember home.

After eating, he poked through his garden bowl. Not much of one, sure, but there was an aloe plant, a bush with some kind of berries that hadn’t killed him yet, and his favorite, a tiny lavender hedge. He couldn’t eat it like the other two, but he could sit and breathe the aroma until it filled his head and let his mind float away. He tried not to do that too often. He didn’t want it to stop being special.

Brendon plucked a small leaf off the aloe plant and squeezed it into his mouth. The thick juice dribbled out, and he scooped some of the jelly out and ate it slowly. He’d grown accustomed to the taste, and now he really liked it. He had to be careful to ration it, though. Killing the plant would be a bad, bad move.

He hid the rest of the leaf under the mat with his cakes, then went to the tree and boosted himself up onto the lowest limb. It didn’t take him long to climb to the top; the ceiling was maybe twenty feet up. Maybe more. Brendon was shit at estimating distances. He snapped a twig off and put it at the corner of his mouth, then tugged at the branch he’d wedged into a fork in the trunk. It came easily, and he straddled a limb and started to work.

The branch had been covered in rough bark when he’d started. He’d peeled back the bark, saving the outer layer for braiding and the inner layer for eating. It wasn’t bad. Kind of tough, but it had an interesting flavor, which was more than he could say for the cakes. They must have been nutrient-dense, because everything seemed to be working as it should-- no illnesses, no teeth falling out-- but they were bland. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said aloud. “Boring food is better than no food.”

Once the branch was smooth, he had rubbed it against the tree trunk to wear down the knots. He wished he had a rock to shape it better, but the floor was only dirt. Well, he’d have to make do with what he had-- he heard his mom in his head again-- so he started rubbing it against the branch he was sitting on.

It didn’t take long to find the groove, to fall into the rhythm and flow. He lost himself in it, and only when he ran out of breath some minutes or hours later did he realize he’d been singing. He could feel the words in his mouth. _Lift up your voice, fresh courage take, our God will never us forsake_...

It was a nice thought, anyway.

When he decided to quit, he put the stick away carefully and clambered back down the tree. He wanted a bath, but he was pretty sure they’d changed his water only yesterday or whatever, and he didn’t want to dirty it all up and have nothing to drink for another couple days. Or whatever. But maybe if he was careful, if he bathed at the other end of the pond, it would be okay. As long as he used his box and didn’t take a dump in the pond, he’d probably be fine.

The water wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold either. Brendon had gotten used to that a long time ago, just like he’d gotten used to no more weather or sunrise or twilight. He scrubbed himself with sand from the bottom of the pond, then lay on his back and floated for a while, eyes closed, letting his mind drift.

When he roused himself, he was humming again. This tune sounded new, and he splashed to the side and pulled himself out so he could get it written down. On a bare patch of dirt, he drew staff lines, divided them into bars, and started scratching down his notes. It was good. He knew it was good.

When he was done, he’d filled up all the dirt space available, and he was humming it, singing wordless passages while he tried to fix harmonies in his head. He couldn’t sing them, but as long as he could hear them in his mind, it would be almost like it. And once he had it, he could make up words, he could have a new song to keep his other ones company, to sing at the ceiling when the lights were out and he closed his eyes and pretended there were stars.

It was on the third time through that a sound interrupted him. Brendon jumped and instinctively scurried back behind the tree. An opening appeared in one wall. He cringed, but leaned forward, every nerve alive. Whether what came in was good or bad, it was a change in a life that was too often the same.

A form came into view. It was a man.

Human.

Brendon dashed out from behind the tree and ran toward him, his heart pounding, breath sounding in his ears. The man looked around, saw Brendon, and his eyes opened wide. Brendon collided into him and threw his arms around him. The man grabbed him back. They hugged so tightly the air was crushed out of Brendon’s lungs.

“Brendon,” he panted. “My name is Brendon.”

“Frank,” said the other man.

Brendon jerked. “English? _American?_ ”

“Yeah.” Frank’s laugh was tinged with hysteria. “Oh God. Brendon. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Brendon gripped Frank tighter. “Frank, I love you.”

Frank buried his face in Brendon’s neck; Brendon’s hand came up to grip Frank’s hair. Brendon breathed in the smell of Frank, of someone not himself but human nonetheless. “I need you,” Frank said against Brendon’s skin. “I need to be close to you. Closer.”

“Inside me,” said Brendon, “yeah, I want you to be next to me, I want you to be inside me, _please_.”

Frank turned his head and smashed his mouth to Brendon’s. He kissed hard, all lips and teeth. Brendon forced his tongue into Frank’s mouth. They sucked on each other’s mouths, kissing at the corners, licking the taste of sweat off each other’s skin. Brendon pulled back first. “We don’t-- I don’t know how long you’ll be here. We have to hurry.” He pulled Frank over to the grass, threw back the mat and grabbed the what was left of the aloe leaf. “This’ll work. Here.” He squeezed the jelly onto Frank’s hand, then dropped to his hands and knees, legs spread wide.

“Not like that,” panted Frank. “No. Roll over.” He smeared the jelly over his hand and slid a finger into Brendon, his other hand digging into Brendon’s hip.

Brendon moaned. “Two, gimme two. Oh damn it, just fuck me. Do it.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“I don’t fucking care. _Do it._ ”

A second later, Frank’s cock butted against Brendon’s asshole, Brendon took a deep breath, and Frank bore into him. It hurt, oh fuck did it hurt, but Brendon didn’t care; it was _someone else_ , a _person_ here with him, and if he fucked Brendon till he bled it would be just fine. Frank’s face above Brendon was flushed, his lips bitten and swollen, and it twisted as he pushed further inside. The burning sting was sweet. Frank began to pump, and Brendon gave a long groan as the pain grew, held, and finally subsided into electric shocks of pleasure. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, fucking yes.”

“I’m in you,” gasped Frank, “I’m all the way inside you, I can feel you, oh fuck, Brendon, you feel so good on my dick. You feel so good inside.”

Brendon grabbed Frank’s upper arms. “You feel so good in me, Frank, I can feel you, oh Jesus, Frank, fuck me, make me feel it, I want it all.” Frank thrust harder, and Brendon wrapped his legs around him, pulling him in as deep as he could go. “I need it,” said Brendon, and his eyes were wet, trickling down his temples and into his hair. “I need you. I love you. Fuck me, I love you.”

“Love you so much,” said Frank, grunting with the effort. “Love you, love you, _need_ you--”

“Harder,” said Brendon, his voice cracking. “Harder, harder, I want to remember.” Frank obeyed, his face screwed up tightly. Brendon’s heels knocked against Frank’s ass, and Frank thrust harder, faster, deeper, until he came with a cry. Brendon squeezed with his legs, keeping Frank inside. “Don’t go. Stay in me.”

“No,” said Frank, “No, here.” He pulled out and collapsed next to Brendon, grabbed Brendon’s dick in his right hand and began stroking. Brendon’s eyes rolled back in his head. Frank’s hand wasn’t his; it was different, and Brendon didn’t know what it was going to do, and it was amazing. “Please,” he said. He could barely recognize his own voice. “My balls, please, I need you to--”

Brendon cried out suddenly, because that was Frank’s mouth, it was Frank’s mouth on him, licking and mouthing his balls, pulling them into his mouth one by one, swirling his tongue around them and driving it up against his perineum. Frank’s hand never stopped. “Ohgod,” said Brendon, “Oh _Christ_ , Frank, Frank, Frank Frank Frank FrankFrankFrankFRANK.” His hips jerked upward, and his cock pulsed hot into Frank’s fist. It felt like Brendon’s whole body would snap, but a second later the tension rushed out of him and he fell boneless against Frank’s chest.

He went away for a second. He really didn’t think it was more than a second, because when he came back, Frank was wiping his hand off on the grass. “I could’ve done that,” mumbled Brendon.

“This hand was in your ass,” was all Frank said before sliding his arm across Brendon’s chest and pulling him in. Brendon snuggled against him and breathed him in again. “You smell amazing,” he said.

“I smell like ass,” said Frank. He pressed his chin against Brendon’s shoulder.

“Your ass,” said Brendon. “Not mine. It’s awesome. Why are you here?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t know. I was in a box. I don’t know for how long. I slept a lot.”

“Did you see them?” Brendon asked.

“No. I’ve been alone since I woke up in the box.” Frank laughed again, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “I haven’t seen anybody for a long, long time.”

Brendon squeezed him. “Me either. I think, I don’t know, I think it’s been years. I tried to keep track at first, but I lost some time somewhere so I stopped worrying about it. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” agreed Frank. “Kiss me again.”

Brendon kissed Frank long and deep. His hands came up to tangle in Frank’s hair. “I could go again,” he murmured. “Can you?”

“Yeah.” Frank wrapped his legs around Brendon’s hips. “Inside me, now. I need it.”

They fucked until they were raw and exhausted, until Frank was coming dry and Brendon’s voice was hoarse. Even when they were done, neither would let go of the other. Brendon couldn’t stop smelling Frank, couldn’t stop tasting his skin or staring at his face. He wanted to memorize him. He wanted a memory that would be clear for the rest of his life.

He showed Frank the pond, and watched him scrub himself. His muscles bunched and moved under his pale tattooed skin, water beaded up and sluiced off him, and Brendon watched it all. His cock gave a painful quiver. He winced and kept his eyes on Frank, who stumbled up the sandbank and half-collapsed onto Brendon. “I can’t walk very well,” said Frank. “Can we lay down?”

“Yeah,” said Brendon, “yeah, c’mon, I sleep over here.” He walked Frank to the grassy corner and pulled out his other mat, the one that had taken days (or whatever) to weave. “There’s room for both of us if we squeeze close.”

They maneuvered around till Frank was on top of Brendon, his head resting on Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep,” said Brendon. “If you do, I will too, and I don’t want to miss this.”

“I won’t,” Frank vowed. “Talk to me. Keep me awake.”

So Brendon talked. He told Frank about his family, his brothers and sisters and parents and dog, his high school, his neighborhood, his mom’s minivan that he got to drive, his room and his computer and his guitar and piano and the cello they’d rented for him to learn to play. And in return Frank told him about his home in New Jersey, his mom and dad and grandfather and his friends, the guitar he’d gotten when he was a kid, the stupid songs he’d written, the bands he’d been in. How he’d gotten the neck tattoo so he’d never be able to get a real job. Each tattoo had a story behind it, and Brendon wanted to hear them all. Then the lights went out.

“I never know when,” said Brendon. “Sometimes I hardly have time to climb up the tree and back down again. Other times I fall asleep and when I wake up they’re still on. All I know is that every time the lights come on again, I get fed. Are you hungry? I have some that I saved. And I have some berries, and some bark under here; it’s kind of chewy but it doesn’t taste bad, and it doesn’t make me sick, so it’s okay to eat.”

“I’m not,” started Frank, but his stomach gave a growl, and Brendon laughed. “Okay, yeah. Food would be great.”

Brendon felt around for his stockpile and drew it out. He reached out for Frank, found his hand. “Eat whatever you want. Eat it all. I want you to have it.”

The only sound for a while was Frank chewing and gulping. Brendon listened carefully, fixing it in his mind. “I wish I had something for you to drink,” said Brendon. “The pond’s probably bad by now. I-- we can’t drink out of it till they change it.”

“When do they do that?”

“I don’t know. Just, whenever.”

“Brendon,” said Frank. “Who are they?”

Brendon was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them.”

“Why are you here, then?” Frank pulled Brendon back onto the mat and arranged them so Brendon’s chest was against his back.

“I think.” Brendon paused and kissed the back of Frank’s neck. “Did you ever have an ant farm when you were a kid? Or, like, a lizard or a turtle or something, in a glass case?”

Frank was silent.

“I think that’s what I am,” said Brendon. “I don’t know how they see me. I can’t see through the walls, but maybe they can. There’s a door where you came in, and I guess maybe I came in there too. I don’t remember. And there’s a place in the ceiling where the food comes from. The water drains out through a hole at the bottom and fills up from there too. I tried digging up the dirt once to see what was underneath, but the whole room started shaking, and I never tried again.

“I try to keep busy. I peel sticks and make them smooth. I don’t know what I’ll do with them, but I’ll think of something someday. And I write music. I have a bunch of songs, and I give concerts sometimes. I don’t know if anyone watches, or if they understand, but I do it anyway.”

“Sing me one of your songs,” said Frank. “Sing all of them.” So Brendon did, as many as he had, and when he ran out, he got Frank to sing his. Frank didn’t have a voice like Brendon’s, and that was good. Brendon was sick of the sound of his own voice. Frank’s was another thing to memorize.

When they both sang everything they could think of, they had sex again, gentler this time. Brendon wasn’t able to come, but it didn’t matter. Frank orgasmed onto Brendon’s belly, and Brendon smeared it into his skin. It was tacky as it dried. Brendon plastered his hand to his skin, then pulled it away with a wet sticky sound, over and over.

For a long time it was the only sound besides Frank’s breathing. When Brendon stopped, Frank took a deep breath and spoke. “Do you think. Maybe. Do you think they brought me here for you? So you wouldn’t be alone anymore? Do you think maybe...”

Brendon let out a sharp noise before he could stop himself. “Fuck. Fuck.” Suddenly he was crying, and he rolled over to hide his face in Frank’s chest. “Don’t, I wish you hadn’t said that, don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Frank. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

Of course he wanted it. Of course it was the only thing in his life he could want. He wasn’t sure, but he thought if they took Frank away he’d lose it completely, go crazy and bang his head against the wall till his brains leaked out or sharpen one of his sticks and hope it didn’t hurt too badly when it went through his neck. He didn’t say it, but just lay against Frank and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. When he reached up, he found Frank’s face was wet too.

“I love you,” said Brendon.

Frank kissed him. “I love you too. Don’t forget that.”

They lay there together for what must have been hours. When Brendon fell asleep, it didn’t take long before he woke up with a jerk and kissed Frank again, or licked at him, or ran his hand over Frank’s skin. He tried so hard, but his eyes burned the longer he stayed awake, and his awake periods became shorter and shorter...

When the lights came on, he was on his feet before he had time to think. Frank was next to him, eyes wide open. Brendon grabbed his arm. “Maybe. Maybe. I don’t know, but. I get three cakes a day. They come from up there.” Frank looked where he was pointing, and Brendon shook him. “There-- maybe. Maybe today there will be six. If there are, we’ll know. Right? We’ll know.”

“Yeah,” said Frank hoarsely, staring into Brendon’s eyes. “Maybe.”

“It’s there,” Brendon said. “Right there.” He sat down. Frank sat next to him, and they both watched the ceiling, hands gripped tight together, until it opened.


End file.
